


And the rest is history.

by a beta perspective (Ejunkiet)



Series: Moving Back Home for Dummies [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Deputy Derek, M/M, developed history and other head!canons, laundry washing, post-3B
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 10:42:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1776205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejunkiet/pseuds/a%20beta%20perspective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another small continuation of 'Nowhereville'. Laundry day. For evilbunnyking, who has been having a rough few weeks!</p><p>---</p><p>“But- <i>you went to college!</i> Come<i> on</i>, Derek. You can’t say you haven’t tried it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	And the rest is history.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evil_bunny_king](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evil_bunny_king/gifts).



Stiles is digging through his bags, Derek lounging against the door frame to refrain from peering over his shoulder – apparently one look was enough to prevent his customary _looming_ \- when he finds his _‘stash’_ buried amongst his underwear. The bag is ruptured, of course, spilling its contents across his bag and into every article of clothing he owns, and he pulls a face as he considers just how long it's going to take him to clean this mess up.

“ _Euch_.”

When Stiles shoots a distracted glance back at Derek, he surprised by the fact that Derek looks even less impressed with the state of Stiles’ belongings than he is, his face twisted into a disgusted grimace. 

“Does my laundry smell that bad? I did most of it before I left, but there was a lone sock or two that managed to wriggle under the bed, and actually, I _really_ shouldn’t be talking about those-”

“ _No, Stiles_.” Derek cuts him off, shooting him an exasperated look as he rubs at his face with one hand, where it stays to cover the subtle flaring of his nostrils – Stiles _knows_ his tricks. He hides a smirk, turning back to observe the mess. No wolfsbane, _definitely_ no mistletoe – he’d had enough dramatic kisses due to that plant to last him a lifetime – and apart from some carefully hidden laundry and the dusting of illicit drugs across his belongings, he can’t see what the issue is.

“Then what, exactly, is offending your ever-so-delicate wolfie sensibilities?”

Derek ignores the jab, although Stiles can tell it is taking all he has _not_ to roll his eyes, and gestures angrily at – well, _all_ of Stiles’ stuff. Stiles can't stop a brow from raising. A lesser man could take that as an insult.

A look of frustration crosses Derek’s features as he watches Stiles face, evidently getting that Stiles still has no clue what he is referring to, and gestures again, this time with an angry finger. Stiles keeps an eye on its trajectory, in case indignant becomes _sharp_ , and shrugs his shoulders helplessly at Derek.

"Really, I have no clue what you're getting at."

“It’s your – what did you call it? Your _‘stash’_.”

 _Ohhh_. That would explain it. “Wait.” He glances at the hand Derek is using to cover his face then sniffs subtly himself – but he can’t smell shit. “You can smell it from there?”

“You can't?” Stiles' mouth rounds into a little ‘O’, and Derek lets out a long suffering breath.

“You can stop with the exaggerated surprise, Stiles. My enhanced sense of smell is not something new.”

He snaps his mouth shut accordingly. “But- _you went to_ _college!_ Come _on_ , Derek. You can’t say you haven’t tried it.”

There had been a long summer before university, the one after the events that they only talk about on anniversaries, when Stiles had needed – space, from the pack, from everything. He’d gone hiking in the preserve – it wasn’t a full moon, and he’d had practice masking his tracks - and had inevitably taken a wrong turn, and Derek had been the only one he could bring himself to dial. He hadn’t judged, and they had ended up sharing Stiles’ bottle of Jack and talking, and that was when Stiles had learned that Derek had, in fact, gone to college.

He’d had a late start, majoring in History, with a minor in political science, and had been entertaining thoughts of following it through to a master's - until his sister had fallen out of contact, and he’d dropped everything to make a road trip to his old hometown in search of her.

And the rest was history.

The last time Derek had mentioned it, he'd been working on finishing up his degree via correspondence in his spare time – when they actually _had_ spare time. It’s been long enough, though, that Stiles reckons he was probably finished by now. Hence, the actual employment. Huh.

Stiles sneaks a glance back over to Derek, whose expression - as much as Stiles can see it beyond the palm of his hand - is distinctly unamused as Stiles pokes at his belongings, and the smattering of dried herbs across it.

“Don’t remind me. The taste is even worse than the smell.”

“How did you _survive?”_

Derek’s expression is a bit smug. “After a _conversation_ , my roommate kindly agreed to never smoke in my presence. He even decided to quit.”

“You _killjoy.”_

“ _Cop._ ”

“From birth, apparently.”

“Shut up, Stiles.”


End file.
